


what a piece of work is man

by anthonvstrk (theravvenstag)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 18:23:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8633473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theravvenstag/pseuds/anthonvstrk
Summary: The first time Credence falls in love he is seven years old. He doesn't wear the name Credence now but John. A common name. The name of soldiers and men, of unnamed corpses of little boys with no mothers and no place to go. The boy he loves is called John too.
     Creden Barebones and the people he's loved.





	

The first time Credence falls in love he is seven years old. He doesn't wear the name Credence now but John. A common name. The name of soldiers and men, of unnamed corpses of little boys with no mothers and no place to go. The boy he loves is called John too.

 _Come on twin_ , he smiles with irony. His white teeth shining against his dark skin. Credence always wonders how a boy can look so much like a star. John takes his hand and makes him run: away from aunties, from the nuns, between automobiles and officers legs. He teaches Credence the how to look after himself. The advantage of small fingers. The art of handling knives. There are times when John's lessons are the only thing that that lets him eat at night. Other times they earn him a scolding from the sisters and solitary in the church basement, a Bible strewn at his feet.

He'd never give up the running though. The precious moments when the world is reduced to the ground beneath his feet and John's hand in his.

 _Twins,_ he'd whisper back face double split with misery and joy, _Twins._

***

The second time happens in an instant. An ecstasy of fumbling in a back ally. The silhouette of a god pressed against his mouth. Credence cards his fingers through blonde hair. The softness of the strands clash terribly against the violence of the kiss.

 _This is a man who doesn't know how to be warm,_ he thinks as the frantic mouth works it's way down his body.

In the weak afternoon sunlight Credence falls for a man whose name he does not know and whose eyes he does not remember. There is a grey thread loose on the left shoulder of his jacket. The corner of his jaw is prickled with the beginnings of a beard. His hair is blonde. He doesn't give a damn about Credence or the dust in his knees or the whole damn world.

He is perfect.

***

Credence loves his mama. He really does. Doesn't mind the raps across his hands every now and again. He doesn't mind the persistent chill of the Church attic or the violent sound of rain against the roof.

“Credence.” She calls him. A name of faith, a name of trust. Mama trusts him to do right by her.

“Yes mama.” He answered, wiping down the ink from hands.

She looks down at the smudged fingers cooly. Finally she nods behind him.“Take those flyers around. But clean up first.” She orders “You're bad enough as it as is,we don't want people thinking we're associated with the marked.” It was an excuse mama repeated often. _Don't do that, we're not like that._

“Yes mama. No mama.”

She whipped the back of his head. “Get in with it then.”

Credence moves like a bloodhound, his spindly limbs scrubbing off the black froths skin and collecting his mother's word. His stomach turns, in anticipation, that the word witch against his skin. But he is ready to do good, to do right, to do right by his mama. _Yes_ , he thinks as he steps into the gruelling modern sunlight, _I love my mama._

***

Mister Graves is a mistake. He creeps up on Credence like a shadow. He trails him carefully, like a feather pulled by wind, waiting until the weather's good to touch down. His cold hands feel like a relief in summer, drawing heat from his neck. Credence averts his eyes from the shape of his lips as they push out words, soft words, cruel words, words that sound like static spilling out from his throat. Mister Graces clutches Credence and tells him:

“I can make you great.”

“I don't wanna be great Mister.” He pulls his leaflets closer, to shield him. The paper cracks like bone between his fingers. The edges cut into his wounds and blood spills from his palms leaving blossoms of red across the ‘ _STOP_ ' and ‘ _WITCH_ ’.

Graves’ eyes eyes fall to the movement. His touch grows impossibly softer and his mouth moves impossibly closer. “Look,” He whispers gently. “I know Propentina-”

“Who?”

“- the woman that saved you. I work with her I understand.” He stops and pulls back slowly, as if he expects Credence to follow him.

“You're a witch,” Credence tells him. “You're a witch.”

Graves sighs and steps back, setting Credence free. Credence averts his eyes from the shape of his lips so they find his eyes, dark and sorrowful. Credence shivers. 

“Witch doesn't always mean bad Credence,” He calls as strides towards the edge of the sidewalk. The heat from the engulfs them now, the little world they'd created shattered by the gaiety of summer. In one moment he looks back, lips full with a promise to return, piercing Credence’s chest like the light from a star. In the next he's gone, body stolen by the whim of the wind.

***

John scrubs Credence’s kiss from the edge of his mouth. “It's not right.” He repeats. “It's not holy.”

 _I ain't holy_ , boils in his chest. _I'm bad, I'm bad, can't you help me-_

“It was just a kiss.” He whispers.

“It's a _sin_.” John hisses. He’s still worrying at his skin. Credence wonders if he'd try and scrape it off. He wonders if the evidence for his love could have sunk beneath the skin, branding itself on John's soul until it was as broken as his.

“I can't do this, I can't.” John stumbles out of the alcove with his hand clenched to his cheek. He watches Credence in the shadows as he retreats, as if he's a predator. As if he's an evil. As if he might kiss him again. 

Credence stays as still the saints in communion. Watching the boy he loves run escape him.


End file.
